Living, Laughing, Love
by umbuby
Summary: At the end of the Great Game. Sherlock shoots. Everything goes bang. And now he can feel himself fading away and there's one person, one woman, on his mind. Sherlock/Irene. Warning:Character Death. written before SoB


Author's Note: Okay, I wrote this at about 1 o'clock in the morning and I don't remember writing half of it, but it seems good so I decided to finish and post it. I hope you guys all love it. The main pairing is meant to be Sherlock/Irene, but it can be Sherlock/John if you turn it upside-down and squint. Set after the Great Game (assuming Sherlock shot the bomb) I really don't know what else to say so enjoy! **Sherlock is the property of the BBC. **

_Note: I posted this before Scandal of Belgravia aired, so Irene Adler and their relationship is totally OOC. Let's just say this is an AU or something..._

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**Living, Laughing, Love**

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Shock. Now I'm really in shock. I'm aware of the shrapnel digging into my chest. And blood. I know there's blood. Spilling. Gushing. Retching. But I can't feel it. It's not there. And all I can feel is your hair

, beneath my cold fingertips. You're not here. I know you're not, but you are all I feel. You are all I want to feel. My Living, Laughing, Love.

Strange. I've not thought of you inn such a long time. But now, as I die, I hear your voice in my ear,. Whispering the sweet nothings of tomorrow unto me. I don't know whether it's meant to comfort me or not, but it does. It calms my mind, gives me peace.

I don't close my eyes, because I don't want to die. Not just yet. I'll die in my own sweet time, thanks. For now, I'll just lie here, feeling the ash and the dust and the remaining shrapnel engulf my form. There are some noises. Distant noises. I can just about make them out. They might not be real either. I don't know don't care. There's the shrill cry of an ambulance. There's someone calling for me. It's not John. A police officer, then. Or a paramedic. Lestrade, maybe.

Cold. My body's growing cold. My lips are warm with blood. I think I choke. I think I splutter. I can't be sure, because I've gone all numb. _"Shhhhhh…" _You whisper. Quiet, but… warm, I think. Soft like candlelight. _"It'll be okay. It'll all get better. It'll all be okay." _I blink away salty water from eyes; are they tears? I don't think so. No. They can't be. I've spent half my life crying away and I won't now. I refuse to, simple as.

"**Sherlock!"**

A hoarse call assaults my ears. Who are you? Go away. Let me think in peace.

"**Sherlock! No!"**

Damn. John's voice breaks the spell of peace and pulls me back to the ruin. The ruin of the pool and the ruin I was only just beginning to leave behind. The ruin of _my_life. The pain kicks in and the blood keeps retching. Retching. I'm cold. I don't want to be cold. _"You don't need to be cold, Sherlock. You don't have need to hurt"_ I don't know what you're on about, now. Oh. Oh right. I realise, you're not talking about _this_ cold or _this _hurt. These are not words spoken, they are words remembered. I remember when you said them too. Two years ago, I was high. Probably. I was often so back then. I might have been drunk too, but I don't really remember that. It was the first and last time I cried before your eyes. You didn't leave. That mattered. You didn't leave. You didn't shift me onto someone else. You didn't insist I get 'professional' help. You held me. You hugged me. And you told me everything was going to be alright. _"Everything's gonna be alright"_

Funny. Funny that I remember _that _night. Now. After I spent so long pretending it never happened. Then again, is it really that strange that I remember your comforting touch, your comforting words in the moments of my death

My death…

Oh. I never told you that I loved you, did I? Well, I did. I did. I don't anymore of course, but I did. I loved you. I loved you so much and when you disappeared like you did, I… Why? Not sure. I could scream a hundred and one reasons from the rooftops and none of them would be logical. So here's the logical one: Because you cared. And, at the time, you where the _only_ one who did. Hell, even I didn't care if I lived or died. There where only two things I cared for: The drugs and the chase. And then you came along and there were three things: The drugs, the chase and the woman. And I still don't know which one was more addictive…

"**SHERLOCK!"**

John! Are you still there? Go away. Go away and leave me on my own. Alone. _"Shhh… You're not alone, Sherlock" _No. you're lying, love. I was alone. I was so alone all the time. You where all I had and you left and then I had nothing again. But not now. I'm not alone now. Am I? No, I'm not.

John.

John's here. John's always here. I didn't even realise 'till now did I? A few months we've lived together and he's more important to me than you ever where. Why? Why? Why is that?

"**SHERLOCK! FOR GOD'S SAKE BREATHE!"**

I'm trying to but you keep hitting my chest. Christ. It's freezing now and it's dark. Darker than night. It's too dark. Is this what it will feel like. Death. Gone, down and out? Fuck that. Your whisperers become harder in my ear, until the are no longer whispers, but sobs and screams. _"don't do this, Sherlock. Don't do this"_ I don't remember her sobbing that night. Did she? No. No she didn't. I'd remember that. I realise it isn't your voice I hear. It's John's. He's crying. Oh God, he's crying. I'm the one who'll die. Why is he crying? I open my eyes just enough to see a blur of his face and he seams relatively unharmed. Why is he… Oh… Oh! He's crying for me. Calm down. I'm not dead yet. Don't cry. Please don't cry/ Don't cry don't cry don't cry… The blackness is more potent now. It surrounds me. It engulfs me. It lifts me. But still I see your face, darling. Still I feel your hair beneath my fingertips. And your lips, warm and soft, on my cheek. _"It'll be okay, baby. Don't worry it'll be over soon."_ I feel like I'm slipping, because there's no more pain. There's no more blood. There's no more cold. There's no more John and his sobs fade with him.

And now it's just us. Just you and I, love. Me and the Woman. Me and _my_ Woman. Me and my Irene Adler. My living laughing love.

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One last thought dwindles in my brain. One last question remains unanswered:

**Darling, why do you care…**


End file.
